


A Beautiful Lie

by Guestswithoutbags



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Adashi lovers do not come for me, Affairs, Alternate Universe - High School, Anal Sex, Angst, Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Bittersweet Ending, Blow Jobs, Bottom Lance (Voltron), Cheating, Closeted Character, Denial, Football Player Keith (Voltron), Gay Keith (Voltron), High School, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Infidelity, Internalized Homophobia, Keith & Shiro (Voltron) are Siblings, Keith has both of his parents, M/M, Pregnancy, Self-Denial, Swimmer Lance (Voltron), Teenage Pregnancy, Top Keith (Voltron), Vaginal Sex, big time, keith is in the closet, she/her pronouns for pidge
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:14:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26363251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guestswithoutbags/pseuds/Guestswithoutbags
Summary: It’s been six months.Six months of hand-holding, forced smiles and purity rings.Six months of him wanting to rip his own skin off when he has to lean in to kiss her.Six months of dying inside when he has to say that he loves her too.And six months of fantasising about the sweet release of death whenever he sees her walking towards him.Keith has a girlfriend.Keith wishes he didn't have a girlfriend.
Relationships: Adam/Shiro (Voltron), Allura/Lotor (Voltron), Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Comments: 24
Kudos: 110





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hi y'all, this is my other WIP that I decided to finally post because I've been sitting on it for a while.
> 
> I will be updating it but it will be slow, as I am working on my other story, 'A Royal Affair.'
> 
> This story is really cliche - it's a high school setting and it will be like several stories intertwined. The main focus is on Keith and his relationship with Lance.
> 
> I'll update the tags as I go on but please note that there will be homophobia mentioned in this and a lot of angst.
> 
> And yes, the title is from a 30 Seconds to Mars song....shoot me.

Keith has a girlfriend.

Her name is Mary. They met in homeroom.

Mary, like many of her peers, had liked Keith for a long time before they started dating.

Keith wasn’t aware of Mary’s existence and had simply had it with people trying to pry into his private life.

Apparently, it was a sin to be on the football team  _ and _ be single. Or at least be on the football team and not be fucking every girl that looked your way.  _ Especially _ when you were the quarterback. 

Perks of the job, right?

Wrong. 

Keith couldn’t think of anything worse. 

But still, the parties happened, the questions came, and Keith dodged bullet after bullet. He never spent a minute of those seven in heaven, never span the bottle, never got himself stuck in an awkward game of truth or dare, and never let himself admit to something that would incriminate him. Because never had he fucking ever.

At first, it was fine. People accepted his aloof and mysterious demeanour. They accepted that he wore fingerless leather gloves every day like some second rate serial killer. They accepted that his hairstyle resembled a long-forgotten pop icon from the 80s. And they even accepted that he would show up to a party stone-cold sober, promptly leaving exactly the same way barely an hour later. 

As long as he performed well on the field, the student body left him alone. Quirks and all.

That was, however, until Becky.

Becky was the head cheerleader of Altea High - a walking wet dream. Her tiny waist and perky tits complemented her flawless skin, dazzling smile and platinum blonde locks. She could turn heads with a simple stroll down the hallway, and a flip of her immaculately styled hair caused a symphony of semis to appear in the shorts of every pubescent boy within a 10-yard radius. 

_ Everyone _ liked Becky and Becky? Well for some reason, Becky liked Keith.

In hindsight, had he known that his simple, _“No, thank you”_ response to the most popular girl in school would cause such a fucking shit stain on his life, he might have answered differently. But even if he had accepted her proposal, it wouldn’t have taken long for Becky to realise that no matter how many times she flipped her god damn hair, no semi would ever appear in his shorts.

Her face had fallen comically. Evidently, ‘no’ wasn’t a word she was used to hearing and had Keith hung around longer, he would have heard her indignant, _“Excuse me?”_ followed by a lot of scoffs and an eventual, _“What a freak!”_ But Keith had shoved his headphones in and had continued living his life, merely putting the event down as another bullet dodged.

That was, however, until the shit had well and truly hit the fan.

It took precisely all of two seconds for the news to spread around the school and suddenly Keith’s quirkiness was no longer acceptable. His gloves were ‘weird’, his hair ‘outdated’ and his lack of enthusiasm for high school parties was ‘very unsettling’. All because he had turned down Becky Lebowitz.

He quickly realised his house of cards was on the brink of collapse when he overheard one of his teammates quipping to another, _“Maybe he’s...y’know?”_

If Keith hadn’t been one hundred percent certain what that statement and that statement alone meant, the flap of his team mate’s hand left no illusion to what they were insinuating. 

And he could not have that. 

Not today. Not tomorrow. Not ever.

He needed a distraction, some arm candy that required minimal effort on his part but enough to silence his peers. Enough for the questions to stop, the offers to cease and the hand gestures to fuck right off.

And that’s when Keith had finally noticed Mary.

She had lit up like a Christmas tree at his question, nodded vigorously at him to the point he thought her head would roll right off, and then proceeded to trip over her clarinet case, painfully face-planting the floor when they parted ways to class.

She was perfect.

He knew he had made the right choice when she sheepishly asked him if he could meet her parents within the first week of ‘dating’ - you know, to get their ‘blessing’.

They were as conservative and Christian as you could get. They said grace before dinner, had a picture of Jesus hanging above the toilet and made Mary wear a purity ring.

_“This symbolises her promise to God,”_ Her dad had said, thrusting Mary’s hand in Keith’s face as soon as he had crossed the threshold and before he even had the chance to take off his jacket. _“She will remain pure until marriage, understand?”_

Keith had smiled and nodded, even throwing in a _“Yes, sir”_ for good measure. He quickly won them over and by the end of the night he was quite happily sporting his own purity ring and had made his own promise to a God he didn’t even believe in. 

At school, everyone accepted Keith’s new relationship. When they heard about the purity rings, suddenly it made sense... _ he  _ made sense. 

Suddenly he wasn’t ‘ _ You know _ ’ accompanied with a flap of a hand. He was… _ ’You know…’ _ sign of the cross, hands together in prayer.

Suddenly the leather gloves were once again acceptable, his hairstyle a ‘classic’, and his absence at parties understandable.

People left him alone again and Keith should have been happy...ecstatic even... but he wasn’t. He was fucking pissed.

Had he known it was this simple, he would have been sporting crucifixes, purity rings and socks with sandals a long fucking time ago and he wouldn’t have needed Mary.

....

It’s been six months.

Six months of hand-holding, forced smiles and purity rings.

Six months of him wanting to rip his own skin off when he has to lean in to kiss her.

Six months of dying inside when he has to say that he loves her too.

And six months of fantasising about the sweet release of death whenever he sees her walking towards him.

Keith has a girlfriend.

Keith wishes he didn't have a girlfriend. 

* * *

“Keith! Keith! Over here!” 

Keith looks in the direction of the sound of his name to find his girlfriend, Mary, beaming from ear to ear and waving manically at him from the bleachers. He smiles his fake smile and returns the wave. If it’s half-hearted and not a patch on the enthusiasm she is showing, sue him.

“Hi,” another empty smile as he plants himself down next to her, leaning in to capture her lips with his own, in what can only be described as a ‘peck’. 

It’s mechanical. Practised. Obligated. He pulls back just as quickly as he leant in and ignores the nauseating feeling that runs through him.

“How was practice?” 

She’s grinning at him, like he’s the sun, and Keith’s looking at her like she’s something he just coughed up. Sometimes, he can’t help but think that he’s a really shitty person. If only she knew what thoughts dance around his mind.

“Fine,” another one-word answer, another static smile. It doesn’t put her off.

“Cool! Band practice was good - long though!” She laughs happily. Before, Mary, Keith didn’t realise people could smile so much. He doesn't understand how her jaw hasn’t fallen off yet through overuse. “Mr McKenzee made us rehearse the Star-Spangled Banner the whole time - like we don’t already know it!”

He nods at her, acknowledging what she has just said, like a good boyfriend would do.

“That sucks.” 

_ Does it? Does he even fucking care? _

“Yeah, it sure as heck does!” She nods, totally invested in the conversation and completely oblivious to Keith’s indifference, “But I get it, he wants us to be on top form for the big game,” she nudges his shoulder with another smile - this one is proud. Proud of having a football-playing boyfriend that she gets to perform the Star Spangled Banner on clarinet for.

Keith manages to smile back even though his mind is screaming at him to leave, to get up and run down the bleachers, dive into the pool and never resurface.

He doesn’t though, instead he turns his attention to the poolside where the swimmers are warming up. Every now and then he nods and offers a one-word retort. It seems to be enough. Mary seems happy.

_ At least that makes one of them. _

It isn’t long before the announcement of the first sets of races blares through the cheap speakers. Keith winces at the assault on his ears but even when it ends, another equally annoying sound begins...

“Jacklyn said she’s doing the butterfly, front crawl and backstroke. She’s most confident at backstroke but I think she has a good chance of….”

Keith tunes Mary out, going back to his thoughts which are becoming increasingly more vivid due to the scene unfolding before him.

Six senior male swimmers are making their way to the edge of the pool. Keith has to make a conscious effort to keep his mouth closed and his eyes from popping out of his skull.

He glances around, making sure that he’s not being too obvious. He can’t afford to be caught, not after ‘Becky-Gate’ and the six months of pure hetero-grafting he’s put in.

He lets his eyes linger on the crowd opposite before gliding back to the swimmers. Another stare he holds for five, soaking up every detail he can and then back around the arena. It’s casual, bulletproof. Back to the swimmers and their itsy bitsy speedos that cover absolutely nothing but everything at the same time. A quick look at the person with the claxon, a nod for Mary and then back to the boys with their perfect abs and v-lines and muscular legs and broad shoulders. Keith hones in on the droplets of water from their warm-up swim, that sparkle on their chests like edible diamonds. 

Keith wants to taste them with his tongue.

The claxon sounds and the boys are gone, with just a ripple left in their wake. Keith watches, intently, hoping to catch another glimpse of the aqua Adonises as they emerge for air, a cheeky hint of a chest being exposed to the crowd. He doesn’t even register that Mary is waiting for a reply.

“Keith?” A tap on his shoulder almost launches him to the moon.

“What!?” He demands, angrier than usual. Internally, he blames his flustered nature on nearly being caught out. He’s usually very careful but he let his guard slip.

He can never let his guard slip.

“Are you okay?” 

Mary’s eyes are downcast with concern. It’s always concern. Always so caring and considerate, only wanting the best for him.

God, he really is a terrible person.

“Yeah. Sorry, I’m just tired,” he lies.

Her smile is sympathetic, the touch caring as she strokes his arm in what he thinks is a comforting manner. Unfortunately, it does the exact opposite and makes his skin crawl. He resists the urge to recoil away but it's only with herculean effort that he does so.

When he is sure that it is safe to look back to the pool, the race is finished. The boys are climbing out and the announcer is revealing that it’s Altea High’s very own Lance McClain who has won first place.

Keith watches as a tanned boy removes his goggles and cap and puts a hand up to the roaring crowd. 

But he doesn’t hear the cheering.

Instead, his focus is on the droplets of water cascading down Lance’s perfect body, running over every toned ab and defined dip. Down further to his navel, his perfectly sculpted v-lines and finally to his tiny speedo where they dissolve into the royal blue fabric.

Keith fantasises about what’s beneath it.


	2. Game Over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith's secret is discovered.
> 
> Allura isn't as discreet as she thinks she is.
> 
> And Shiro returns home to a lukewarm reception.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, it's ya boi (gal) back on the bullshit.
> 
> Just before the tagging police get on my case, please note that there is the following in this chapter:
> 
> HOMOPHOBIA  
> HOMOPHOBIC LANGUAGE  
> MENTIONS OF PREGNANCY  
> HINTS OF INFIDELITY
> 
> If that ain't your cup of tea, please leave. I do not need y'all coming for me in the comments. You have been warned.
> 
> However, if that is your thang, well come on in, the water's fine. I just ask that you leave your fucks at the door, along with your shoes.

“Do you think they’ve 'done it'?” Pidge says with a nod of her head to the victims in question.

Lance cocks a curious brow. It isn’t an unusual question to ask. Personal? Yes. Unusual? No. It’s how they spend their free time - wondering about their peers. Finding anything to fill the 30-minute break and provide them with some mild form of entertainment. 

When they’re not speculating about who is most likely to be a serial killer (Keith Kogane, obviously), ride or die friends, Lance, Pidge and Hunk are focusing on who is getting with who, who has gone all the way and who will most likely die a virgin (Lance suspects Keith...again).

“Who?” Lance replies through his teeth. He’s attempting to rip the lid off of his pudding cup, like the civilised individual he is. His body is desperately craving sugar and because his stupid coach has him on an insanely healthy and stupid diet, he’s not allowed any artificial sweets – fruit only. But what his coach doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

Pidge nods her head in the direction of the accused again and Lance and Hunk immediately crane their necks to get a better look.

“Wow. Subtle,” Pidge deadpans.

After a prolonged stare, Lance whips his head back around, a look of disbelief on his face. “Are you talking about Kogane and Johnson?” he asks sceptically.

Pidge nods in confirmation whilst reaching over and stuffing several of Hunk’s fries into her mouth whilst he isn’t looking; he is still staring at the couple who seem to be sitting together politely, eating their lunch and minding their own business.

The same cannot be said for Lance’s table.

“You can’t be serious,” Lance says, still grappling with his pudding cup which is proving to be a stubborn bastard and refusing to open - it’s like his coach knows he’s trying to cheat on his diet and has trained all snacks to fuck him over, “The purity ring twins?!”

Lance would laugh if it weren’t so stupid. Everyone knew that Keith and Mary were part of the abstinence assholes that roamed the hallways projecting their holier than thou lifestyles onto the sinners of the school. And Lance would know. He had been on the receiving end of more than one death glare from Mary Johnson.

Okay, so she may have had reason to glare at him but technically it wasn’t really his fault.

Well it kind of was but who’s to say?

Okay, so yeah, she may or may not have stumbled upon him receiving a hand job in the music recital room. But who the fuck uses their break time to willingly go and practice the clarinet?

Weirdos. That’s who.

Had Lance known that people actually used that room for its intended purpose, he would have chosen somewhere else to jiggy.

But alas, he didn’t.

So yes, Mary may have opened the door to the storage cupboard to retrieve her clarinet, just as Lance was sent over the edge into orgasmic bliss by his on-again-off-again-girlfriend, Jenny.

And yes, so Mary may have seen Lance’s erect dick before flitting her eyes up in shock and awkwardly locking eyes with his as he pulled what he thinks was the most horrific cum-face in the history of cum-faces.

And okay, fine, yeah, so she may have gotten a little bit of his flying jizz in her eyebrow. But really, it's not like she got it in her eye or anything… and actually, the whole situation could have easily been avoided had the bitch had the decency to knock on said storage cupboard door, before flinging it open like a barbarian.

It was a _notorious_ hooking up spot, it’s not Lance’s fault that she missed that fucking memo. Everyone knew that you knocked on the music store cupboard and that you didn’t venture under the bleachers past 5pm, unless you had a sexy invitation to do so.

 _Everyone_ knew that.

It was like the laws of Altea High or something.

But ‘apparently’, those laws hadn’t yet reached the god squad…so….like, you know…technically _not_ his fault.

It had all happened so fast and the next thing Lance knew Mary was screaming in his face and slamming the door shut before legging it out of the practice room altogether, as fast as her little pure feet would carry her – clarinet completely forgotten.

Lance would have apologised for the mishap but there was literally a smoke outline of where Mary had been when he sheepishly exited the store cupboard (jizz wiped clean and junk put away).

Now every time they had the misfortune of locking eyes in the hallway, Mary would give herself whiplash at the speed in which she would look away before subconsciously wiping her eyebrow, as if scarred by the memory of it all.

Regrets, Lance had had more than a few.

Pidge shrugs flippantly, “It could just be a ruse, Lance. You know, to throw people off the scent?”

Lance scoffs at her statement and finally loses his patience with the pudding cup, mercilessly stabbing the handle of his spoon through the lid like a caveman.

“Does that guy _look_ like he gets laid on the regular?” He says, jabbing his spoon in the direction of the couple and sending chocolate pudding flying everywhere.

Pidge reaches over, stealing more fries from Hunk’s tray and looks to where Keith and Mary sit. Side by side, not touching. She rolls her eyes.

“I didn’t realise there was ‘a look’.”

“Of course there’s a look! You’re friends with me, you know ‘the look!” Lance teases with a waggle of his eyebrows.

“Gross, Lance.”

Hunk finally rejoins the conversation, twisting back around to face them, “Yeah dude, that’s way too much informa--hey! Who ate my fries!?”

“I’m just saying that as someone who is sexually active, Keith Kogane does not look like he gets his dick wet,” Lance declares, finally stuffing a spoonful of pudding into his mouth and ignoring Hunk’s sigh at his vulgarity, “Which is a real shame, because he’s cute as fuck and it looks like he really needs to.”

Lance prides himself in not being one of the many members of the ‘I heart Keith Kogane’ fan club, however, he does have the cojones to admit that the boy is fucking gorgeous. Like model gorgeous. Even with the dodgy hair cut and the fingerless leather gloves. You’d have to be blind not to find him at least some-what attractive.

Pidge reaches over to take another fry but gets her hand slapped harshly by Hunk, “Speaking of, um... 'wet dicks’,” she says, nursing her hand to her chest, “How’re things going with Jenny?” 

Lance winces around a mouthful of pudding before pulling the spoon out sadly. The mere mention of his ex-girlfriend makes him want to jump out of the nearest window, “We broke up….again.” he says forlornly.

“Seriously!? This has got to be like, what? The seventy-fifth time?”

“Yeahhhhh,” Lance draws out, tapping his spoon on the table, “The whole coming out as bi thing didn’t exactly go in my favour.” 

“How so?” Pidge asks, intrigued as to why coming out as bisexual to your emotionally unstable girlfriend would have gone anything other than swimmingly.

“Well, she basically thinks I would fuck anything with a pulse.”

Pidge narrows her eyes at Lance slowly, “You would though.”

Lance scowls in offence and ignores the protest from Hunk as he picks up one of his last few remaining fries and launches it at her head. “Thanks for the fucking support!”

Pidge dodges the attack and grins maliciously, “You’re most welcome.”

So yeah, it turns out that declaring that you also like boys _isn’t_ the best thing you can say to your on-again-off-again girlfriend who is already prone to jealousy.

Who knew?

Not Lance, that’s for sure.

But he couldn’t live a lie anymore. He had been sitting on his secret for far too long and wanted to come clean, get that shit off of his chest.

He thought Jenny would have understood.

He thought that maybe this was something they could bond over, like going to see the new Timothée Chalamet movie together just to perve on him.

He still liked girls, it’s just now he liked boys too. No big deal, right?

Wrong.

Jenny had been utterly horrified at his confession and had demanded to know exactly what percentage of him liked boys and what percentage liked girls, like it was just that fucking simple, whilst also trying to persuade him that it was just a phase and that everyone gets confused from time to time. When Lance didn’t budge from the bi-bus stop, she had turned vicious on him, called him a dickhead and told him that he was definitely straight but just wanted the attention - as usual.

And that is what had finally done it for Lance, because, yes, it was no secret that he liked attention. And, yes, he would admit that he could be a bit of a dickhead from time to time. But lying about his sexuality just to gain points from his peers?

No.

Just no.

So he had told her where to go – ended it for good this time (he thinks), before flouncing off and out of sight as flamboyantly as he could muster, because you know, ATTENTION.

“Well, good riddance to bad garbage, I say,” Lance muses through another mouthful of pudding, “It’s her fucking loss. If she can’t handle me at my worst, then she definitely doesn’t deserve me at my best.” 

“What have we told you about quoting Marilyn at the lunch table?”

“Well, I’m sorry but I’m feeling very vulnerable at the moment and I need to look on the fucking bright side of life!” Lance practically shrieks, his voice getting louder and louder, as he waves his spoon around manically. Several students from the surrounding tables stop to give him a side-eye glance.

Maybe Jenny had a point….

“Speaking of which,” He raises his eyebrows expectantly at his friends; “I was wondering if you both fancied a trip into the city tonight to that gay club I was telling you about, hmm?”

Since Lance had come out as a fully-fledged bi-sexual, and since he had given the old ball and chain the heave-ho, he was dying to see what lay on the other side of the tracks. He had heard all about the Pink Panda Club from his older and very gay sister, Veronica, who not only supported his sexuality but actively encouraged it. She had informed him that the club was renowned for not giving a shit if you were clearly underage and in the possession of a fake ID. Not that it mattered to Lance, his older brother, Louis had passed down his old driver’s license and because people were fucking dense (or racist), no one had questioned him whenever he whipped it out.

“I can’t, I have to...wash my cat,” Pidge says immediately.

“Yeah and I have to...I have to,” Lance watches with bemusement as Hunk scrambles for an excuse, “…water my moped?” he says cringing into himself.

Lance shoots them both death glares, “If you’re going to lie, at least have a fucking excuse ready! I cannot believe it! My best friends! My best friends in the whole world won’t support their newly outed friend. Someone call the police because I have a hate crime to report!” 

The people at the next table over had given up on their discreet side-eye glances and were fully gawking at his theatrics.

Hunk groans guiltily, “Lance, no offence but whenever we go to a club, you hook up within like five minutes and leave us to wonder if you’ve been kidnapped, date raped or both - and it sucks. It sucks hanging at the bar and waiting all night before realising that you’re not coming home with us, or, when you do, having to drag your sobbing and drunk ass home. It’s really not that much fun for us, dude.”

Lance knows Hunk’s description of events is one hundred percent accurate. He knows this. The few times they have managed to get into a bar (thanks to Pidge and her wizardry skills of making fake IDs for all who need them), Lance has ruined the evening by going big and subsequently going home, albeit with a lot of assistance from his friends. But he can’t admit that to them because he really needs a wingman for tonight. 

Look, he’s not averse to going out alone - heck no, he is the king of social confidence. It’s just that, he doesn’t know the rules of the gay-playground yet and he doesn’t want to burst in asking if anyone wants to play tag, to find out they’re all making daisy chains instead.

“Well I’m sorry for being such a burden to you,” he pouts, acting wounded, “First my girlfriend rejects me and now my friends,” his lip quivers as his voice breaks. He’s really not that bothered at all, Veronica has already agreed to go with him to the club, but his tactics usually work (on Hunk at least) due to his superb acting skills which would definitely bag him an Oscar if he tried.

Unfortunately for Lance, today it’s just an honour to be nominated. Hunk shakes his head with an air of finality, “Sorry, buddy but no means no.” 

Pidge nods her head in agreement with Hunk, “Consent is key. You might want to remember that tonight.”

* * *

“You don’t look well.”

The voice of her best friend, Romelle, breaks Allura out of her thoughts. She blinks and realises that she has just been staring into her locker for god knows how long. Shit, how many minutes have passed? Is she late for her next class or has school already finished?

“What?” she asks, turning to look at Romelle dumbly.

“I said you don’t look well,” Romelle repeats, cocking her head to the side, as though she is inspecting her. She’s leaning on the locker beside her and Allura suspects that she too has been there for a while.

“Oh,” Allura says with a small smile.

The truth is, she hasn’t been feeling well for a while but she’s desperately trying not to think about it, even though it’s _all_ she can think about…

She’s late.

By more than just a few weeks.

That coupled with some other symptoms that Google had kindly informed her could only mean one thing has left her freaking herself out and burying her head well and truly in the sand.

There’s a good chance that she’s pregnant.

There’s an even better chance that she will be disowned once her father finds out.

But ignorance is bliss and Allura is pretty sure she has a good couple of weeks before she actually has to act on anything. If she even has to act at all.

Maybe she’s not pregnant.

Maybe it’s just one of those false scares that she’s read about.

Maybe she’s just being stupid and worrying for nothing.

The memories of her boyfriend, Lotor, saying he will ‘pull out’ flash through her mind and she blinks harshly to will them away.

If it had just been the one time…

“It’s nothing, I’m just worried about that Chemistry test,” she lies with a shake of her head and another forced smile.

Romelle searches her face, “Really?” she asks in a tone that says she doesn’t actually believe her. And why would she? Allura never worries about her schoolwork. She’s in line to be valedictorian – she’s a straight-A student, for goodness sake.

“Mm-hmm”, Allura nods again.

They fall into a mutual silence and Allura goes back to placing her books into her locker – the task she initially started with before she zoned out for what felt like the billionth time this week.

“If you’re worried about something, you know you can talk to me, right?” Romelle says quietly, just loud enough for Allura to hear.

“I know.”

“It’s just,” Romelle hesitates, biting her lip nervously, “I heard you before… in the bathroom.”

Allura’s hand stills on the textbook she is in the middle of putting away and she feels all the blood drain from her face in fear.

It had been during gym class. They were playing volleyball when the nausea had come out of nowhere and knocked Allura for six. She had barely had time to excuse herself and make it to the bathroom before she was hacking up her guts into the toilet bowl.

She thought she had been alone.

“I…um…I,” she stutters, not quite knowing what excuse to give.

However at that moment, several members of the Altea High football team including her boyfriend, come sauntering down the hallway and Allura is momentarily spared from Romelle’s Spanish Inquisition.

“Hello, gorgeous,” Lotor says, coming up behind her and planting a kiss on her cheek, “Are we still on for tonight?”

Romelle is still looking at her and Allura doesn’t know how she manages to compose herself but somehow she does. She turns in his arms to smile up at him confidently, “Of course, we are,” she says.

He grins back at her before leaning in and capturing her lips forcefully and Allura has no choice but to go along with it. The other members of the team wolf-whistle and jeer at the display, and Allura feels her cheeks heating up, embarrassed by the pubic display of affection.

This is what got her into the mess in the first place.

Lotor smirks into the kiss at the sounds his teammates are making. He doesn’t seem at all phased to have his tongue down his girlfriend’s throat during the middle of the school day and in a heaving hallway no less, but then again, he also wasn’t bothered about having sex in the locker room or the time they had sex in his car during a very busy and very family-friendly drive-in movie.

He had assured her that they would be fine. Everyone's eyes were fixed on the big screen, not on his BMW, he said, and Allura had gone along with it because...didn't she always? It wasn't even like they had the luxury of tinted windows to keep them concealed. You could see EVERYTHING and Allura would put her life on it that the pre-teen boy in the next car over definitely saw her tits if not her nether regions too.

It’s a miracle they weren’t arrested for public indecency.

She often wonders if Lotor might have a voyeurism fetish, if his sexual habits are anything to go by, but she’s not that stupid to actually ask him about it.

Lotor eventually pulls away to flip his middle finger playfully at his friends who have not let up with their childish sounds. He seems to be in his element – grinning like the cat who got the cream whilst Allura just stands there trying to save face.

“Perfect. I’ll see you after the game,” He says with another sultry smirk which Allura has come to learn means that sex is definitely on the cards tonight.

Fantastic.

Just what she needs.

But you can’t get pregnant twice at the same time, can you? That’s definitely not how twins work.

Or is it?

She watches as he swans off with the rest of the team, who have now graduated to moaning full-on pornographic sounds at him whilst shoving him in that childish way boys do to each other.

Jesus, imagine if she’s having a boy? The world does not need even more bellends in it.

“Are you going to tell him?” Romelle asks and Allura jumps at the sound of her voice.

Oh right yeah, she forgot, she’s on trial.

She turns her head to look at her, “I don’t know what you’re talking about—“

“—Allura.” Romelle states firmly and it’s all Allura needs to finally admit defeat.

She crumbles instantly, surprising even herself with how quickly her composure collapses. Her face twists painfully in anguish and the tears flow freely down her cheeks, as she lets herself grieve.

Fuck. She’s actually pregnant, isn’t she?

Romelle rushes to hug her, taking her into her arms immediately and squeezing her tightly, “Oh, Allura,” she says with sadness as Allura heaves against her, her sobs wracking her whole body.

She can’t help it. She’s been sitting on this secret all alone for a while now – why she didn’t fucking act on it whilst she had a chance she doesn’t know.

If she had just bought the morning after pill, if she had just insisted that he wore condoms, if she had just lied to her parents and said the real reason she wanted to go on birth control was to help with her period pains.

If, if, if.

God, why the fuck hadn’t time travel been invented yet?

Eventually, when she manages to calm down, she gently pulls herself away from Romelle and uses the sleeves of her sweater to wipe at her tear ducts, “You won’t tell anyone, will you?” she sniffs, looking at her best friend with pleading eyes.

Romelle’s eyebrows etch together with hurt, “Of course not. Whatever you need, I’m here with you.”

Allura gives her a watery smile, on the brink of collapsing into more tears. She really can’t take someone being nice to her at this point. It’s her own stupid fault that she’s in this mess and it’s only going to get worse.

But whatever happens, there’s at least one person who won’t walk out on her.

* * *

“Honey, I’m home!” Shiro calls out as he steps over the threshold to his and Adam’s apartment.

It’s been over half a year since he was last at home. His latest mission had taken him to the International Space Station where he spent a painful six months hauled up in a tiny shuttle, with an unbelievably annoying Slovakian astronaut, Slav who drove him up the fucking wall. To say he’s relieved to be home would be an understatement.

The apartment is quiet and the only signs of his boyfriend, Adam actually being there, is the glow from the lamps in their lounge.

Shiro tries not to be too disappointed. He’s used to Adam rushing him when he gets home from a mission. Usually, he barely even has chance to put his keys in the door before Adam is practically ripping it off its hinges and launching himself into Shiro’s arms.

But this is…this is…different.

“Adam?” he calls out again

Perhaps Adam is taking a bath and can’t hear him or maybe he has his headphones in or something.

Shiro sets his bag down on the breakfast bar and is about to go searching for him when Adam appears in their bedroom doorway.

“Takashi, hi,” Adam says with a reserved smile. It’s a far cry from how he usually greets Shiro.

“Hi babe,” Shiro beams, trying not to let the cold indifference he feels from his boyfriend get to him. They’ve been here before. Many times. Adam doesn’t exactly like having an astronaut as a boyfriend and has made his feelings on the matter abundantly clear. Sure, he likes _telling_ people his boyfriend is an astronaut but the reality of actually dating one is a different story. The long absences really get to him and Shiro is forever making it up to him.

He strides over to Adam and takes him in his arms, squeezing him tightly and breathing in his scent.

He’s really, really missed him.

Adam hugs back but there’s something off about him and Shiro doesn’t know what. He’s exhausted and really cannot handle another argument right now.

“Is everything alright?” he asks cautiously, pulling away and holding Adam at arm’s length.

Adam furrows his brow and shakes his head lightly, “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“You just seem, I dunno. Like off?”

“I’m just tired.”

“Have I done something?”

“No. Why would you think that?”

Shiro shakes his head, “I...it doesn’t matter.”

It is late and maybe Shiro is selfish for not considering that Adam might actually just be tired. The fact that he’s stayed up for Shiro reminds him that he _does_ care. Maybe he’s reading too much into things again.

As if on cue Adam lets out a big yawn and stretches his arms high above his head like a cat, and Shiro’s heart melts a little bit at the sight.

God, he’s missed this.

“Bed?” Adam asks and Shiro nods eagerly, hoping that the question means so much more than just sleeping.

They move to the bedroom and Shiro immediately makes a beeline for their bathroom. Although he showered at the Garrison, the regimental soap and shampoo that they issue isn’t a patch on his and Adam’s stash from Bath and Body Works, and he wants to be as enticing as possible.

He always looks forward to this - his first night back home. No matter how tired he is, no matter how cranky he is, he always makes sure to show Adam exactly what he means to him.

Some of the best sex he’s had has been on his first nights back from a mission. They say absence makes the heart grow fonder and in his and Adam’s case, they couldn’t be more right.

He quickly finishes up and puts on a fresh pair of black boxers that he knows Adam loves on him. After one final check in the mirror, he walks out of their en-suite and into their room to see that Adam is already in bed, laying on his side and scrolling through his phone.

Shiro coughs lightly, hoping that Adam will look up and see him in all his semi-naked glory.

But he doesn’t.

He carries on scrolling through his phone, as if it is another night on his own and Shiro is still in space.

Something is definitely wrong.

Still undeterred, Shiro walks over to the bed and climbs in, immediately scooting over to Adam and putting a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Hey,” he whispers before leaning down and kissing Adam’s neck tenderly.

Adam flinches and scrunches his shoulders in a bid to get Shiro off of him.

Shiro tries again, “Don’t you want to--”

“--Not tonight, honey,” Adam interjects in an annoyed tone.

Shiro blanches at his words. They usually cannot keep their hands off of each other when Shiro returns from a mission.

“But, I’ve been away for--we always um...when I get back?”

“I’m just…” Adam sighs and puts his phone down on the bedside table, “I’m just really tired.”

Shiro searches his face, looking for any sign that can help him understand why he’s being so distant. But Adam just stares back blankly.

“Okay,” Shiro finally says, giving him a small smile to let him know that it’s okay. That he understands.

He doesn’t.

“Night,” Adam smiles back and rolls over to turn his bedside lamp off.

Shiro sits quietly for a moment, before reaching over and turning his own lamp off. Then he snuggles down into the sheets, rolling over to face Adam’s side.

“Are you sure everything’s okay?”

Adam looks over his shoulder and even in the dark, Shiro can tell that he’s annoyed.

“Yeah, I’m sorry, I’m just...exhaused. I taught six classes today and then I had mid-terms to grade and--”

“--It’s fine,” Shiro interrupts shaking his head kindly before reaching over and laying a kiss on Adam’s forehead.

Adam smiles and turns his head away again.

“Goodnight,” he says.

“Goodnight,” Shiro replies and then waits. Waits for Adam to say them - those three little words that he badly needs to hear from him tonight.

But he doesn’t.

And he _always_ says them.

“I love you,” Shiro finally says to the silence.

There’s a pause. It’s probably a very brief pause but in Shiro’s mind, it stretches on for what feels like aeons.

“Love you too.” Adam replies and Shiro can’t help but think that it’s an afterthought.

* * *

“Who’s house is at, this week?” His dad chuckles, as Keith is patting his jacket pockets to make sure he has everything: keys, phone, wallet. The usual.

“Uh...um...James’s house,” Keith replies with a small smile.

His dad is still convinced that Keith goes to the after-game-parties on Friday nights. Like he would willingly spend any more time with the dickheads he calls teammates than he has to. They are so far removed from anything to do with his life that just playing on the same football team with them takes almost all of Keith’s sanity and strength. But the lie has worked in Keith’s favour. His dad is stupidly proud of him for things he shouldn’t be and gives him free rein to come and go as he pleases. And boy, does he please.

“Mary gonna be there?” His dad asks with a knowing raise of his eyebrows and Keith knows what he’s really asking.

‘Is Mary going to be there' translates to _‘Are you going to hook up?’ ‘Do you have the condoms I gave you?’, ‘Are you going to get laid, son?’_

Sometimes Keith fantasises about telling his dad where he really goes on a Friday night after the game. Right after he’s come home and showered, got himself all spruced up and looking nice, wearing the tightest black shirt he owns paired with his matching tight, black jeans which he _knows_ makes his ass look good.

He fantasises about saying those three little words to his dad, just as his older brother, Shiro had done.

He fantasises about being free, to live the life he wants.

He imagines what his Dad’s face would look like when he found out. How it would comically fall into despair as he realised it was happening _again_.

Maybe if Keith hadn’t seen the way his dad had taken Shiro’s sexuality; how he frequently referred to him and his boyfriend of 6 years, Adam as ‘fags’; or how he proudly boasted about voting against same-sex marriage, Keith wouldn’t find it so hard.

Maybe, if Keith didn’t know what he knew about his homophobic dad, he would find it easier to come to terms with it.

With being gay.

“Yeah,” Keith gives a small nod.

It’s a fucking lie. Mary isn’t allowed out past seven unless she is chaperoned by an adult. It’s laughable to even think she would be at James’s house at ten o’clock on a Friday night, necking jello-shots and slut-dropping to Cardi-B like the rest of the fucking morons he goes to high school with. She was probably tucked up in bed three hours ago, after enjoying a warm cup of milk and saying her prayers.

“Well, stay safe, son.” His Dad says, raising his cup of coffee before taking a sip. It’s another comment with a hidden agenda, one that Keith has to read between the lines of.

_‘Seriously, remember the condoms I gave you.’_

His parents are both firefighters and work unsociable hours.

This too, works in Keith’s favour.

If he had the balls, Keith wouldn’t hesitate to download Grindr - use his unlimited freedom to his advantage and invite hook-ups over when his mom and dad are off being modern-day hetero-heroes. Maybe he would fuck some strangers on his parent’s bed, making sure that some random guy’s jizz just happened to land on his dad’s pillow. Or better yet, wear his dad’s favourite Altea Fire Department shirt as he’s balls deep in some faceless guy.

God, does he wish he had the nerve to do it.

But he doesn’t.

Even doing what he’s doing now has him quaking in his boots at the mere thought of his dad finding out...and he’s not even really doing anything.

He smiles in acknowledgement, tells his dad to have a good one at work and heads out, grabbing his helmet from the side as he goes.

You see, his dad didn’t hesitate to buy him a motorcycle for his eighteenth birthday. To him, it was another box ticked that his son was straight. He liked bikes. He played football. He had a girlfriend.

He wasn’t like Shiro.

God, if only he knew.

The ride to the city is short and sweet. He knows it well. He’s been coming to this same club for the past six weeks, only this time, he hopes to pluck up enough courage to actually go inside.

Usually, he just hangs around outside, watching and waiting for something to happen.

One time, he got the nerve to bum a smoke from some random guy who told him he had nice eyes. Keith had pretty much imploded at the compliment, dropped the cigarette like it had just electrocuted him and hurried off into the night without another word, like a shit Cinderella.

Not his proudest moment, he will admit. But he’s gotten better. With every week that passes, Keith gains more and more confidence to just bite the fucking bullet.

And last week? _Oh boy_! Last week he got close.

Really close.

He even got in line, to like…. _go in_. And it wasn’t until he was two people away from the front that he had bottled it, ducking out of the line as quickly as he could and back to the comfort of his bike, where he sped off back home without so much as a backwards glance.

But tonight?

Tonight, he was going _in._

He parks his bike in the familiar lot across from the bar. He won’t be drinking past the one beer he hopes to nurse until he has the courage to speak to someone - if he ever has the courage. But even if he does - whatever happens, he still has to get home. If he left his bike here overnight, his dad would ask questions. Even offer to drive him to James’s house to pick it up and he can’t have that because the bike wouldn’t be there. It would still be chilling in the parking lot opposite the city’s gay district.

 _‘And why is your bike here, son?’_ His dad would ask.

And Keith couldn’t exactly say, ‘ _Well, dad, I’m actually a raging homosexual and came to the Pink Panda looking for some no strings attached fag-fun, so that I can desperately cling onto the memories in order to continue with living the lie that is my life and having the ability to hold my girlfriend’s hand without wanting to kill myself.’_

...

So, just the one beer then.

Sure, this would be so much easier if he was shit faced. He’d have zero fucks to give and would probably end up stumbling home with some random guy, losing his virginity to a person whose name he would forget the next day.

But he really cannot do that. Well, not the shit faced part, at least.

The virginity part? We’ll see.

At that thought, he slips off his purity ring and puts it into his jacket pocket before shrugging his jacket off altogether and tucking it away with his helmet in the compartment at the back of his bike. Then he squats in front of one of the mirrors to make sure he doesn’t have helmet hair.

He should probably feel a little bit of guilt for what he's about to do. He's told himself that every week since he started coming here. But he doesn't feel guilty....at all. Like his purity ring tucked safely away in his jacket pocket, all thoughts of Mary are left with it.

The light from the above streetlamp spills onto him, enabling him to get a proper look of himself and when he is confident that he looks as good as he did when he left the house, he saunters over to the club as casually as he can manage - the other patrons don’t need to know that his heart is going a mile a minute inside his chest.

He gets in line and tries to calm himself down. It’s not even like he has to be nervous about getting in. He turned eighteen in October - his ID is legit. Not that they really care at a place like this. He has studied the security guard scrupulously and knows that he barely even glances at the IDs given to him. Heck, Keith wouldn’t be surprised if someone managed to get in with a Subway loyalty card.

It takes no time at all for Keith to get to the front of the line and just as he’s thinking of bailing for a record-breaking seventh time in a row, the bouncer barks at him and Keith, in a trance, hands over his ID...Just like that.

And just as he predicted the guy barely even looks at it before he’s handing it back to Keith and nodding at him to go in.

Keith exhales in relief.

It’s very anti-climatic.

After paying the cover charge, Keith receives a bright pink stamp of a panda to the back of his right hand and makes a mental note to wash it off as soon as he gets home.

He can never be too careful.

It takes him longer than a moment to realise that he's not dreaming and that he actually did it. He’s actually _in_.

There’s no going back.

If he ran out the door now, he’d just look like a complete fucking weirdo and would never be able to show his face again.

But he’s not going to do that because…

He’s in.

He’s fucking _in._

Keith begins to venture inside. It’s dark save for the variety of multi-coloured disco lights flashing intermittently and illuminating the clubbers. He thinks a song by Britney Spears is blaring out from the speakers but he isn’t quite sure.

All he knows is, it’s so very _gay_.

It’s also busy, really busy. He has to push his way through the dense crowd to get to the bar. He does this as politely as possible, trying not to touch or ogle the amount of boys in sinful tank tops, tight t-shirts and even tighter pants, blatantly displaying their perfect assets, as he goes past.

But it’s a struggle.

He finally gets to the bar to order that one beer to calm his nerves. His heart is still racing a mile a minute, his hands are clammy from sweat and adrenaline is coursing wildly through his veins at the possibilities that lay ahead.

He still cannot quite believe he’s made it this far.

The bartender – a guy in a tight black button-up (which is laughable as it’s barely buttoned up at all!) and matching tight black jeans, quickly notices Keith and makes a beeline for him, leaning over the counter to hear his order. Keith, who doesn’t know where to fucking look, nervously tells him what he wants, fully expecting the guy to lean back and demand to see his ID and check that he’s twenty-one. But he doesn’t. He simply smiles kindly and winks at Keith before flouncing off to retrieve a Bud from one of the nearby fridges. He returns almost immediately, popping off the cap and handing it over to Keith, who makes sure to keep his eyes firmly fixed on the bottle and not on the guy’s pecks which are practically dying to break free from his shirt.

“That’ll be eight dollars, gorgeous,” the bartender smirks wickedly.

Now Keith knows the guy is just doing his job. He’s aware that flirting equals more tips. But that still doesn't stop him blushing like a schoolgirl at his words. He sheepishly hands him a ten dollar bill, waving off getting the change. The bartender thanks him with another wink and Keith is fucking mortified. Jesus - if this is how he reacts to forced attention, he has no hope in hell for surviving getting chatted up for real.

He turns around so that his back is against the bar, unable to have the super-sexy bartender in his eye line any longer and takes in the scene before him.

Everyone seems to be living their best life.

They’re dancing without any inhibitions.

Laughing with each other genuinely.

Kissing each other like they actually want to.

And _this_ , Keith thinks. _This_ is how it’s supposed to be.

He finds himself getting lost in spectating, more than happy to just people watch and take small sips of his beer. He’s probably too engrossed in the activity because he doesn’t see the white guy with the platinum blonde hair and nose piercing sidling up next to him.

“Hey,” he says and Keith jumps slightly at the sound, tearing his eyes away from the dancefloor and turning to look at the guy, unknowingly but blatantly checking him out in the process.

Objectively speaking, he’s good looking. He’s not Keith’s type _at all_ (does he even have a type?!) but really, Keith can’t afford to be picky in the situation. The guy’s young and slim and Keith suspects the definition of a ‘twink’ which is probably how everyone else in here sees Keith too.

He smirks at Keith’s boldness, watching as his eyes rake up and down his body, “Not seen you here before,” he says, spouting the cliché statement in a raised voice to be heard over the gay anthems spilling out from the speakers.

“First time,” Keith responds without thinking, immediately cringing at his poor choice of words.

The guy smirks again, “Oh really?”

Keith nods timidly and has to bite his bottom lip to stop his embarrassed smile from fully showing. 

“Then I’ll make sure I go easy on you,” the guy grins playfully.

It feels like there’s a swarm of butterflies trying to break free from Keith’s tummy. He’s excited. Nervous but extremely excited. This is exactly what he came for. He was hoping to shop around before he committed to putting all of his eggs in a basket but fuck it. This guy is kind of hot, definitely willing and most importantly – he’s male.

He introduces himself as Toby - he’s a senior at college studying Marketing and Communications. Keith lies and says his name is Jack and that he’s a mechanic – he can’t risk Toby finding out anything about his real life. He’s carefully crafted it into the bullshit state that it’s currently in – a house of cards waiting for a whisper of wind to knock it down. And he will not have Toby, the twink from the Pink Panda, being that whisper.

They carry on chatting for a while or as best as they can over the music. Toby asks Keith if he wants to dance but Keith declines – the one beer he has almost finished certainly hasn’t given him enough dutch courage to take things to the dance floor. Toby doesn’t seem to mind though, laughing off Keith’s nervousness and staying by his side.

Eventually one thing leads to another and suddenly Toby is tucking a lock of Keith’s hair behind his ear and Keith is leaning into him like it’s all he can do and then they’re kissing, obscenely and inexcusably and Keith thinks is, _this_. _This_ is what it should feel like.

He had never really got it before when people compared kissing to fireworks popping off inside your head. Because to him, kissing was just...well... _meh_. But that was before he had kissed a boy.

_Fucking hell, he was actually kissing a boy!_

God, he could happily do this forever.

It takes an embarrassingly short time to progress to having their tongues down each other’s throats, and even briefer to start grinding against each other desperately. If Keith’s not careful, he’s definitely going to cum in his pants and bring the night to a premature end. Oh well, guess the loss of virginity will have to wait for another time.

“Well hello, gorgeous – could I get two vodka cranberries, please?”

Keith stutters to an abrupt stop at the sound of a familiar voice and pulls off of Toby with a harsh pop, desperately scanning the area for the sound he’s positive he’s just heard.

It’s one of those voices that you never forget. Loud, annoying and very, _very,_ distinctive.

It doesn’t take him too long to find the culprit and when he does, his dick, which had been sporting the boner to end all boners, immediately turns flaccid due to the horror that washes over him.

Because standing _right_ next to him is none other than Lance ‘loudmouth’ McClain, the champion swimmer and notorious gossip from his high school.

Keith feels his heart stop inside his chest.

“Jack, are you okay?” Toby asks with concern but Keith doesn’t hear it because he’s currently shellshocked and doesn’t know what to fucking do.

Also, _who the fuck is Jack?_

“Jack?” Toby repeats jostling his arm slightly.

Oh shit, yeah. _He’s_ Jack.

“I...um...I have to go,” he says as quietly as he can before making a bid to get away but Toby grabs onto his arm and because Keith is not expecting it, he stumbles....

He stumbles right into Lance.

No. God. Please. No.

What happens next occurs both in slow motion and at warp speed. Keith watches in horror as Lance turns to him, a friendly smile on his face.

“You okay, bud—“ Lance manages to get out before stopping midway through his sentence upon seeing who it was that bumped into him. His eyes go comically wide as though he’s just seen a ghost. A fucking gay ghost.

Keith is pretty sure he looks guilty. If his swollen red lips haven’t given him away, surely the twink clinging onto his arm and crying out ‘Jack’ has all but confirmed that it isn’t an accident that he’s here in a gay club.

Like it’s obvious he wasn’t lost and came in looking for directions.

Shit.

Fucking shit.

“Kogane?” Lance utters in disbelief like Keith’s a shit mirage and Keith just gawks back at him, frozen in time and space.

Of course, Lance can’t believe it. It’s the last place someone would think Keith would be on a Friday night... He’s the fucking star quarterback of his high school football team. He has a fucking girlfriend. He wears a fucking purity ring, for god’s sake.

He’s still gawking at Lance like an idiot, still has the twink, Toby hanging onto his arm and still doesn’t know what the fuck to say or do.

So he licks his lips, desperately stalling for time and trying to come up with some excuse. Something plausible and believable. Maybe if he acted like he’s smacked off his tits, Lance would just put it down to him being on a bad trip and wouldn’t question it. Like who hasn’t tripped out on drugs and decided to go and suck dick for relief?

No one. Fucking, no one.

Fuck.

His heart is beating so fast inside his chest that Keith is pretty sure he is about to have a heart attack.

The jig is up.

His house of cards has well and truly collapsed.

The cat has fucked off out of the bag.

“I have to go,” Keith finally utters after what seems like a millennium. He yanks his arm clean out of Toby’s grasp and practically levitates to the exit.

He hears Lance call out to him, hears Toby crying out for Jack.

But he doesn’t stop.

Doesn’t hesitate.

Doesn’t look back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So if you haven't already worked out - this is going to be 4 stories intertwined:
> 
> Keith  
> Lance  
> Allura  
> Shiro
> 
> You might not be down with that but that's the way this cookie is going to crumble.
> 
> If you're feeling fancy, you can hit me up on twit-skee. I have 0.2 followers and could always do with an ego boost.
> 
> Cheers.

**Author's Note:**

> Twitter - @guestsnobags - come say hey, I don't bite - I'm from England, we have shit teeth.
> 
> Tumblr - @Guestswithoutbags - I haven't been on Tumblr in about 59 years tho.


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